In Blackhawk's Bed

by Barbara Mccauley

“Where are the girls?” He met her at the porch steps, took the stuffed animals from her, then waited while she dug through her purse for her house keys.

  “They’re having a Mickey Mouse movie marathon and sleepover at Lori’s.” The smile she forced felt tight and thin, but it was the best she could do.

  Normally she wouldn’t let them stay over after such a busy day, but she’d made an exception tonight. She knew it was selfish, but tonight she wanted Seth to herself.

  Hannah opened the door and stepped into the house, closed the door behind them when Seth followed.

  They stood in the entry in the dark and faced each other. The silence wrapped around them like a heavy fist. Neither one of them moved.

  “Hannah,” he said quietly. “I—”

  “Don’t.” She reached out, touched his lips with her fingertips, then leaned forward and replaced her fingers with her lips and whispered, “Don’t say it, Seth.”

  The stuffed animals fell to the floor. His arms came around her so quickly, so tightly, she gasped. His mouth covered hers, tilted her head back in a fierce, hungry kiss that left her breathless and weak. She kissed him back, made love to him with her mouth and her body. With her heart.

  He’d take that with him when he left, she thought. Her heart, her love.

  She was young, maybe she’d love again someday, but not with such depth. Maybe another man would spur her to passion, but not with this intensity. There would never be another Seth. She would never feel this way again, of that she was absolutely certain.

  She wound her arms tightly around his neck, pressed closer to him, heard the soft moan rise from deep in her throat. The urgency had them both breathing hard, moving toward the bedroom as one. Her sweater slipped off near the base of the stairs, his shirt at the bedroom door. Between eager, hot kisses, clothes slipped away until they both fell naked and breathless onto his bed.

  She felt the chill of cold air on her breasts, then the heat of his mouth. He tasted and teased, nipped at her soft flesh until she was gasping and weak with need.

  Together they rolled, arms and legs entwined, bodies joined. She rose over him, felt the rhythm, moved with it. His hands dug roughly into her hips, held tight as they spiralled upward with the rising passion. She arched back, felt the need for release claw at her.

  She took him with her, to the edge, hovered there, then tumbled over. With a deep, low moan, he followed.

  “Hannah,” he said raggedly, then dragged her mouth to his. His arms wrapping around her, they rolled to their sides and faced each other, waited for the breath to come back to them and the ground to stop spinning.

  Her heart still pounded in her chest as she touched his cheek. He turned his face into her hand, pressed his lips to her palm.

  “I rushed you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  He laughed softly. “We’ve got time yet.”

  Not enough, she thought. Not nearly enough. But she wouldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t.

  Moonlight sliced through the shadows and stretched across their bare bodies. Hannah inched back, rose on her elbow and rested her head on her palm while she took in the sight of him. The hard planes of his face, the broad expanse of his chest, the long, solid stretch of leg. Every angle, every feature, she committed to memory.

  “There’s something I need to know.” She traced the square line of his jaw from earlobe to chin, felt the rasp of his evening beard on her fingertip. “I need the truth.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, Hannah.”

  He hadn’t before, she knew. He’d always been honest, about everything. “The check that Brent suddenly showed up here with? Did you make that happen?”

  “Hannah, I—”

  “The truth, Seth. Please.”

  He shifted awkwardly beside her. “I’m sorry, I know you told me to stay out of—”

  She kissed him to shut him up. “Thank you.”

  He lifted a brow. “You aren’t mad?”

  Smiling, she shook her head. “Of course not. It took me a couple of days to figure it out, though I still can’t imagine how you made it happen.”

  “I made a phone call or two,” he said with a shrug. “It was suggested to him, by certain people in high places, that unless he wanted every state, city and county inspector blocking every project he was involved in, and every project he’d ever be involved in, then he needed to clear up some back financial matters.”

  “You could do that?” She blinked at the moisture burning her eyes.

  “It was no big deal.” He wiped at a tear that slid down her cheek, frowned. “Hey, don’t. Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not,” she lied. “Not really. I’m just…grateful, that’s all.”

  For so many things, she wanted to tell him. No matter what the pain, she was glad he’d come into her life, so very glad.

  They were quiet for another long moment, then she said, “Seth, I think it’s better if I say goodbye to the girls for you. They might not…understand.”

  I don’t understand, she wanted to say. When he sighed, then pulled her close, she clung to him, let the fever sweep her away and make her forget, if only for the moment, that in the morning he would be gone.

  Eleven

  A miniature railroad display sat in the corner of Henry Barnes’s oak-paneled office. Seth stared at the elaborate creation, a depiction of a mountain coal-mining town, complete with general store, hotel and saloon. The train itself, a shiny black replica of an 1800s locomotive, was meticulous in detail, from the brass-plated bell and whistle on the engine, to the forest-green watchtower on the caboose.

  The display made him think of the dollhouse in Maddie and Missy’s bedroom. The girls had spent hours with their tiny plastic people and furniture, arranging and rearranging all the hundreds of tiny little pieces that drove Hannah crazy. If she wasn’t stepping on them, she was sucking them up in the vacuum cleaner. He smiled at the image of Hannah, hands on her hips, lecturing the girls on responsibilities and taking care of their toys.

  His smile slowly faded. He’d been gone less than two days, but it felt longer. He’d left before dawn yesterday, kissed her on the cheek while she was still sleeping. Afraid if she’d woken up, he wouldn’t have left.

  But they’d said their goodbyes the night before. Made love, talked about the girls, the festival, his motorcycle. They talked about everything but his leaving, had both wanted it that way.

  Hadn’t they?

  A phone ringing from the outside office caught his attention, and he turned his attention back to the railroad display. Inside the general store, a thumb-sized male clerk wearing an apron stood behind a counter where tiny shelves were lined with canned goods and folded squares of blue-checkered linens. Realistic trees and shrubbery surrounded the tunnel leading into the mountain where tiny workmen shoveled coal into hopper cars.

  Seth looked at the switch that turned the train on and felt his fingers twitch, wondered if the engine blew smoke like the one he’d had as a kid. He’d been six the Christmas his father had brought home a train layout and set it up under the tree. He could still smell the crisp scent of pine, see the jeweled glass ornaments and sparkling white lights, hear the sound of his mother’s holiday music playing.

  He and Rand had played for hours under that tree, arguing over who got to be the engineer. The smile on his face faded as he realized that in a short while, after twenty-three years, he and his brother would stand face-to-face. Eye-to-eye.

  Seth shoved his hands into the front pocket of his jeans, not only to resist touching the controls of the train, but because his palms were suddenly damp.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Henry Barnes came into the office, glanced up from a file folder and smiled. “Victoria Wellington, the president of the horticulture club, was insistent on filing a lawsuit against Ernie Farson’s new puppy for digging up Vickie’s prizewinning dahlias. It took me a few minutes to convince her that there were other ways to handle the problem than litigation.”

&
nbsp; The gray-haired lawyer wore a charcoal sport coat over a white-collared shirt, blue dress jeans and shiny black cowboy boots. When he saw that Seth was inspecting his train setup, the older man’s dark-brown eyes brightened.

  “Just got her set up last week. Keeps me out of trouble and the grandkids love it. Henry Barnes.” He held out a hand. “Just call me Henry.”

  Henry’s handshake was firm and sincere, eased the knot in Seth’s stomach. Henry moved around his large oak desk, gestured for Seth to sit in a leather armchair opposite him.

  Henry leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face as he stared at Seth. “Damn if you two don’t look alike,” he said, shaking his head. “This has got to be the damnedest case I’ve ever had.”

  Impatience gnawed at Seth’s gut. “I thought my brother was going to be here.”

  “We agreed it might be best for me to explain a few things to you first.” Henry sat forward and opened the file he’d brought in with him. “Get the basics out of the way.”

  The sudden stab of disappointment surprised Seth, but he merely shrugged. “All right.”

  “Everything is in here.” Henry turned the file around and slid it across the desk to Seth. “Dates, times, names. We can go over all the details now, or I can give you the shortened version and you can take this file with you.”

  Seth glanced at the file. There were several pages, in small print. “Let’s go with the shorter version.”

  “I thought that’s what you’d say.” Smiling, Henry pushed a button on his desk intercom. “Judy, can we get two cups of coffee in here? And hold all my calls, please.”

  Henry flipped the intercom off and settled back in his chair. “Why don’t you get comfortable, Seth? Even with the shortened version, this might take a while.”

  Two hours later, Seth stood at the window of his fifth-story Four Winds Hotel room and stared at the town below. Across the street, a man walked out of the drugstore, the same drugstore where Seth’s mother had bought him red licorice when he was a kid. A barber pole three stores down still turned in swirls of red, white and blue, the same barbershop where his father had taken him for a haircut. On the corner, a yellow neon sign flashed from the glass window of a diner. The same diner where he’d sat in a booth with his family and eaten hamburgers and chocolate shakes.

  As he’d driven through town, more memories from his childhood came back to him. It wasn’t that he remembered names or faces as much as he remembered the smells and the sounds. The scent of fresh-baked bread from the bakery, the smooth, rich taste of strawberry ice cream in a wafer cone from the drug store, the deep, hollow bong of the church bell every Sunday at noon.

  Dammit. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanted desperately to remember more, to remember what had happened that night. He knew what Henry Barnes had told him, of course. But it was just so hard to believe.

  Shaking his head, he turned away from the window and stared at the file sitting on the corner table. It was all there, the proof, and it was still so damn hard to believe.

  He opened the file, stared at the copy of the newspaper clipping inside, read it for the tenth time…

  Family Of Five Killed In Storm-Related Accident Jonathan and Norah Blackhawk, long-time residents of Wolf River, and their three children, Rand, age nine, Seth, seven, and Elizabeth, two, were killed late Saturday night when their car spun out of control in Cold Springs Canyon…

  Every time he read that part, every time he saw their names in print, a shiver crept up his spine. The article went on to describe the lightning storm, how the medics had pronounced them all dead at the scene, that they were survived by William Blackhawk, Jonathan’s brother.

  Every time Seth read the name William Blackhawk, he saw red. William Blackhawk, his own uncle, his father’s brother, had orchestrated the deception. Henry Barnes had explained to Seth that William had hated both of his brothers, Jonathan and Thomas, for marrying outside of the reservation. William had shunned both brothers and their children, even though they’d all lived in Wolf River.

  Seth didn’t remember his uncle, couldn’t understand how a grown man could turn his back on his own family, go to the lengths that he had to falsify the deaths of three children, then cruelly send each of them out for adoption, telling each child individually that the rest of their family was dead.

  But he did understand, Seth thought with disgust and tossed the article back into the folder. Greed motivated most crimes, Seth had certainly learned that in his job. Greed and passion. William had been consumed with both. Greed for the land and money—a great deal of money, it turned out—that Seth’s grandfather had left in his will to his three sons. And his passion had been his hatred toward his brothers’ Anglo wives and their half-breed children.

  If his uncle hadn’t died in a plane crash two years ago, Seth thought he might kill the man himself.

  With a sigh, he stared at the folder, then closed it. He’d memorized everything in there he needed to know.

  Spencer Radick, the town sheriff and first person on the accident scene, who had called William. The sheriff left town two months later and hadn’t been seen since.

  Rosemary Owens, William’s housekeeper, who had taken Rand that night and kept him until he was adopted by a family in San Antonio. Rosemary had left Wolf River six weeks later and moved to Vermont, and they now knew she died of lung cancer only six months ago.

  Leon Waters, a crooked lawyer from Granite Springs, who arranged all the illegal adoptions and forged death certificates. Seth didn’t remember him, but Henry had told him that Waters was also the person who had taken him from the accident scene, then made arrangements with the Grangers to adopt him immediately. Leon had closed up his practice shortly after the accident and disappeared.

  Their participation and silence had all been bought and paid for by William Blackhawk. The deception might never have been discovered if not for a journal found after Rosemary’s death, a thorough documentation—names, places, dates—everything that took place that horrible night and the days following. The journal had been sent to the only Blackhawk still living in Wolf River, Lucas Blackhawk, a cousin Seth never knew he’d had. He owned a ranch just outside of town, was married and had two children.

  And there was another cousin, Seth had learned. William had a son, Dillon Blackhawk. But Dillon had left Wolf River when he was seventeen and had never returned, not even for his father’s funeral. Considering who his father was and what he’d done to the Blackhawk family, Seth didn’t much give a damn where William’s son had gone, or if he ever came back. What did a person say to the man whose father had lied and ripped a family apart?

  There were still scores to settle, men to find, justice to be served. But that would be dealt with later.

  The only thing that mattered to Seth now was Rand and Lizzie. Though they were still looking for Lizzie, Rand had returned to Wolf River, Henry had told him, and was planning to settle down here with his fiancée.

  Seth glanced at the phone. He knew that his brother was waiting for a call. Seth had walked over and picked up the receiver at least half a dozen times, then put it back down.

  He didn’t have a handle on his emotions just yet. His head was still spinning from everything he’d learned this morning at the lawyer’s office. He’d call in a little while, he told himself, as soon as he felt in control.

  He paced back to the window, watched a wavy-haired blonde step out of the drugstore across the street, thought for one heart-stopping moment that it was Hannah. It wasn’t, of course, and he shook his head at his foolishness.

  She’d be picking up the girls from school about now. He could picture them pulling into the driveway. If Mrs. Peterson was in her front yard, she’d wave while Beau barked a greeting. Then the girls would run into the house for a snack and Hannah would ask them about their day. They’d both talk at once, maybe Missy had won a game of handball or Maddie had painted a picture that she wanted to be hung on the refrigerator, or maybe they’d give an update o
n Derek Matthews’s most recent antics in the classroom or on the playground.

  He rubbed at his chest, felt an ache there. He missed them. God, he missed them.

  Turning away from the window, he stared at the phone again.

  No. He shook his head. If he called her it would only make it more difficult between them. Complicate their relationship even further. Hannah deserved more than he could ever offer her and the girls. Even now, Jarris was waiting for him to get back to New Mexico, had told him that his next assignment would be long-term and high-risk. In the past, Seth had asked for exactly those types of jobs, had looked forward to them.

  “Dammit.”

  He dragged a hand through his hair and headed for the door. There was a bar downstairs. He’d have a beer, something to eat, then he’d call Rand.

  With his mind still on Hannah, Seth opened the door, froze at the sight of the man standing in the hallway.

  It was almost like looking in a mirror, he thought, too stunned to move. The reflection in front of him was the same height, same build, though the other man wore a denim long-sleeved shirt and Seth wore a navy-blue T-shirt. They both wore jeans, had the same dark eyes and black hair, though Seth’s was longer.

  Neither man moved, both stared intently at the other, muscles tensed, breaths held.

  “Rand?” Seth’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “Hey, Seth.”

  A knot formed in Seth’s gut as he looked at his brother. Twenty-three years fell away. He was no longer standing in a hotel room, he and Rand were in a ravine, lying on their bellies behind a fortress of rocks…

  “I’m wounded, Sergeant Blackhawk,” Rand said in his biggest grown-up voice. “Do you understand what your assignment is?”

  “Yes, sir, Captain.” Seth saluted. “To infiltrate enemy lines and bring back reinforcements, sir.” They both knew that “enemy lines” meant their mother’s kitchen, and “reinforcements” were the chocolate chip cookies she’d baked that morning.

  “Don’t let me down, Sergeant.” Rand gasped, as if he were taking a dying breath. “I may not last long out here, and the troops are counting on you to save us all…”